Illegal Dreams

 

In Dostoevsky’s novella, The Village of Stepanchikovo, the petty tyrant Foma Fomich informs a servant that he is not allowed to dream of a white bear. Every morning he questions him: “All right, what did you see in your dreams?” And every morning the poor wretch owns up, sobbing: “Forgive me, Foma Fomich, but last night I dreamed again of a white bear.”

 We old-timer Southerners in The Age of the Covid, whom do we see in our dreams? The illegal Robert E. Lee. When we were children, sweating our way through the segregated schools of the Old South, in the age before air conditioning, we were taught one firm irrefutable truth: Robert E. Lee is the greatest man who ever lived.

 

--You’re not allowed to dream of Robert E. Lee anymore. He’s officially illegal; we’re tearing all his statues down.

                --Fine. If you say so.

                (Two days pass)

                --Okay, dammit, tell me who you dreamed of last night.

                --Urghh. Sorry. Robert E. Lee.

 

Our Stone-Age Ancestors Were Smart

“There are Neolithic skulls dating from 6500 B.C. with holes that testify to trepanation, a treatment that involved drilling through the cranium, presumably to let out malign spirits.”

New Yorker, April 20, 2020

 Drill a hole in my head, let the bad vibes out. And release the illegals who still take up space in my brain: Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Christopher Columbus.

 (sings) Oh I wish I was in the Land of Cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away . . . urghh, sorry, I forgot that song is illegal.

[excerpted from the book by U.R. Bowie, HERE WE BE. WHERE BE WE?]